


Of Blind Men

by Astray



Series: Bentycutio is a thing [1]
Category: Romeo e Giulietta - Ama e Cambia il Mondo, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic
Genre: M/M, and future Bentycutio, implied and explicit smut, there be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:38:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astray/pseuds/Astray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benvolio is in a relationship with Mercutio. Benvolio is also in a relationship with Tybalt. He loves them both, and sometimes, he just wishes they would finally get rid of the petty rivalry. Not today, maybe not ever, but that was a night thought to have. Tybalt knows, and did not ask him to choose. Mercutio remained happily ignorant... so far. In any case, Benvolio was absolutely screwed if things got out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Blind Men

**Author's Note:**

> Important note of headcanon.   
> Benvolio and Mercutio headcanon comes from the Italian production (and they will always be my headcanon, unless specified otherwise).  
> Tybalt headcanon is from the French production (the first one). 
> 
> Of course, you are all entitled to your own headcanons but now you know.

No matter how many times he bandaged their wounds, no matter how much time he spent trying to keep them from fighting, there was no helping it. And he let them win, because it was all he could do until they realized that they were part of a whole. Two sides of a coin that has gone bloody with rust. This time it was Tybalt that sought him out – proud, deadly Tybalt – the fierce one with no sense of humour to match Mercutio's, and yet, irony would lead his path. Rough hands caressed his skin, and maybe Tybalt was more frantic a lover than expected, but Benvolio did not mind. He did not mind the kisses that turned into bites because he knew it was not against him that Tybalt raged.   
“Benvolio?”   
Rarely ever did Tybalt speak during sex – and Benvolio berated himself for spacing out. No endearing words spoken, no reassurance, as none was needed. He would be lying if he did not admit that he loved them both. Yes, loved them, and it made his heart clench in agony, to know that maybe, just maybe, neither cared. So he would keep every piece of them he could get, and piece together a larger puzzle – making out an imaginary picture in which war was nameless and dead. His hands trailed down Tybalt's back, feeling each and every scars that marred his skin. The low light made it hard to see, but he knew Tybalt was watching him. Waiting for a reaction – but Benvolio had learned with Mercutio that asking about scars was not done. It was insensitive, and the surest way to antagonize Tybalt. No one asked him about his scars – but he knew both of them saw more than they said.   
Lips caught his and he let himself drown – Tybalt's mane fell, almost shrouding them from the world. He cared not if the world heard him – and sometimes he wanted the world to hear. Wanted the world to know that not every night had to end in a bloodbath. He gripped Tybalt's hips, digging his nails into his skin – there would be angry red welts but neither of them cared. A sharp thrust made him cry out – he did not have enough – needed more. Anything to ward off the cold, clinical knowledge that he was a bandage hastily put to a festering wound. Maybe he was nothing to Tybalt, but he would give him anything he asked. Short of someone's life. His body was – temporarily – his, and his alone. His mind wandered but he knew his soul would find itself cut out by dawn. Memories of Mercutio's easy, laughing, manners wormed their ways in his skull. So different from Tybalt. Tybalt who was always too serious, and yet careful in his own way. He felt his care and concern in the shallow moves that followed his own cry. He tangled his fingers in Tybalt's hair, looking him dead in the eye – he rarely dared, knowing it would be thought of as a threat. His eyes never leaving Tybalt's, he rocked his body against his lover's – for he was his lover in all but name. Nevermind that his entire body shouted at him to stop. The prince of cats regained his composure, it seemed, and Benvolio last coherent thought was how yielding the mattress felt against his back, and how how Tybalt's mouth felt against his – how much he needed to keep the memory of it in a corner of his mind. 

By noon, he was back at his uncle's place, and avoided Romeo the remainder of the day. He had not immediately showered, instead basking in the faint scent of Tybalt, of sex. He was lounging on his bed when Mercutio crashed through the door.   
“Ever heard about knocking?”  
“Foreign concept, never heard about it. So, your cousin told me you were out last night?” And Benvolio did not even had time to roll out of the way before Mercutio landed on him. Gods, how much he hated it sometimes. But it was a bit odd – where Tybalt was calm, almost aloof, Mercutio would be all over the place, and just being touchy-feely with anyone. It used to bother Benvolio – until Mercutio began to assure him that he had no reason to. It was stupid, but he believed Mercutio. Tybalt was an open wound, and would not hide it. Mercutio thought he was clever and tried to hide what he really thought under a thick layer of sarcasm and humour. Benvolio knew better.   
Not showering upon coming back had been a mistake – Mercutio was handsy, and he had a way of noticing that kind of things. One of the perks of being the epitome of a dissolute youth, perhaps? Right now, Benvolio wanted to hide. And at the same time, he just looked at Mercutio, waiting. He did not have to wait long as Mercutio's expression turned into surprise, disbelief, and maybe even anger.   
“You thought I wouldn't notice?”  
Benvolio knew it was a dumb move, but hell, he would not have any of that bullshit. He may love Mercutio, but it was not a reason to let him walk over him.   
“What?”  
“You reek of him.”   
He could tell Mercutio was upset. At least, he sounded upset. He sounded every bit the scorned lover, but there was something Benvolio knew that few did – it was that Mercutio's body language was more telling than his words or tone. He was not as angry as he wanted Benvolio to believe. Benvolio decided to push him a little more.   
“Who do you think you are talking about? And to whom, exactly?”  
“Tybalt Capulet.”  
Hum, the venom was there though. And yet, there was no imagining the way Mercutio looked at him – it was lust. Naked lust – and underlying anger. He had no idea to whom they were directed.   
“You were with him?”  
“Yes.” There was no point in lying. But he could tell Mercutio would not let him off the hook. He knew he was causing pain to his friend, he knew it. It was plain as day. But he could not help it – part of him wanted to scratch the scab until it bled anew – until Mercutio finally saw.   
“How long?”  
Perceptive Mercutio. “I don't quite know. I don't keep track. Are you upset?”  
It was a dumb question, but he had to make Mercutio talk lest he clams up. It worked.   
“I am. I don't know if I'm angrier at you, for going to him, or at him for even daring to touch you.” There was no mistaking the fondness in Mercutio's gestures as he cupped his face.   
“Not just anger, Mercutio.”  
It was funny to see the loud and brash Mercutio suddenly biting his lip like a scolded child.   
“That's not funny.”  
“I'm not laughing.” And he was not. He was not prepared, however, for his lover's next move – for him to kiss his throat, with just the barest hint of teeth. His breathing hitched, and he cursed the gods for his inability to refuse Mercutio anything.   
“I have to admit.” A nip on his neck. “To think that another would touch you is very, very hot. And hateful as well. But hot.” Mercutio pressed their bodies together, and Benvolio cursed his weakness, because he did not want Mercutio to stop. “Why him, though?”  
“Why not?” _You are blind, idiot._   
Mercutio said nothing to it, a telltale sign that he did know why indeed, but would never acknowledge the possibility. It was so easy to read him, it was no fun at all. Mercutio's hands hooked under his shirt, lifting it away. Revealing Benvolio's marred skin. Usually, Benvolio would give himself time, for the light bruises to fade more. Because he did not want to lose either of them – though he suspected Tybalt knew already about his love for Mercutio – only Romeo would never notice. Not that he ever noticed anything.   
He was not prepared for Mercutio to kiss every single one of the spots where Tybalt marked him – he knew Tybalt had it worse than him.   
“Merc.”  
“Don't say a word.”   
The serious tone ticked Benvolio off – it was like Mercutio wanted to make his Tybalt's marks. As though he could erase Tybalt from him. He did not want that. Again, his heart clenched in his chest, and he blurted the truth, helplessly.   
A light chuckle answered him, as arms wound around his waist, drawing him close to Mercutio. He felt him kiss the top of his head. It was a bit puzzling.  
“I know, Ben. Or at least I guess.”  
“How do you mean?”  
“Oh, sweet, kind Benvolio. As if you would sleep with anyone you are not attached to.”  
“And it does not piss you off?” That was a new one. He felt Mercutio shake his head.  
“A bit. But not really. I hate the bastard. And if he hurts you, I'll gut him. But... I respect your choices. You can decide.” _Just don't leave me, please._  
Benvolio could practically hear it. And he vowed to himself never to do so.   
“I love you both. Even if you are blind.” _Blind so you can't see each other, blind so you see only what you want to see. If only I can remove that blindfold and make you see just how foolish you are._


End file.
